Cover Of Ivy
by kate-7h
Summary: "Hershel stopped, as if taking in Daryl's tense shoulders and the determined glare he sent to the Daryl didn't need to look up to see if he actually He It was as if all eyes were on him, seeing into his soul, his memories, his secret thoughts as a kid that he hadn't even shared with " Hershel tells Daryl of his WARNING: Talk of child Post S2


A/N: This idea came from a part in 2x04 where Hershel was telling Rick about his abusive father. I thought this topic might've come out between these two during the close quarters of that winter between S2 and S3. Yuup. **Warning: Discussing of child abuse, language, spoilers up to S2**

Disclaimer: The Walking Dead (c) Robert Kirkman

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The long winter on the road was a harsh one. The snow came down during the day and froze over at night, making the roads slick and hard to maneuver. But that was just driving. Making camp and sleeping was also a major issue they had to deal with daily. Sometimes they'd be in old, abandoned houses as they tried to ignore the rotting, mildewed smell which invaded their lungs. Sometimes their sleeping places were much worse; a rusty storage locker which kept cold in instead of out, an old taco trailer which still smelled like rancid taco meat, an open gazebo beside a frozen pond. Other times they'd risk it outside in the snow if there was no other place to go; build a fire and huddle as close as they could to it and each other.

There was no room for personal space anymore. In order to keep everyone alive and at a safe temperature they had to stay in close proximity, packed together in their blankets like sardines. Daryl counted it a blessing and a curse. A curse for the obvious reasons as he could hardly breathe jammed so close to the others, his muscles strained from sleeping so tensed. A blessing because going through all that they had, they were a family. They were no longer a group of strangers merely benefiting from each other in the apocalypse.

There was also no room for privacy, which was a thing Daryl was most uncomfortable with. Everyone else had gotten over their embarrassment of dressing in front of each other, but Daryl felt as if all eyes were on him whenever he removed his shirt. Specifically the long-time healed gouges, gashes, and burns which littered his torso. His scars kept his eyes drawn downward and away as he wished with all his might that he could run, yet there was nowhere to go.

On a particularly cold day, they squatted in a house deep in the woods. The roof was slanted in such a way that made the entire house look crooked as it touched its shingles to the forest floor. Dead ivy branches made their way from the ground, up the walls, and in through broken windows. The house looked about as dead and deformed as the rest of the shitty world in which they lived.

After it had been cleared and gutted of the roamers which had lived there, Daryl watched as his people trickled into the corpsified house. Maggie and Glenn with their weapons of viscera, Beth and Hershel, Lori, her hand gripping her protruding belly in obvious discomfort and nausea. Daryl laid a hand on her shoulder, a quiet gesture of support. She smiled at him and moved on into the house. Carol walked in after Lori, her hands carrying hers and Lori's things.

"Here," Daryl said as he scooped a bedroll from Carol's arms.

"Thanks," Carol said as she adjusted the blankets. "Looks like we got a nice place for tonight."

Daryl shrugged, "Looks about as nice as the rest of the places we've been."

Carol looked around the main room as they stepped through the threshold from the main hall, "Well, we've got a fireplace and a chimney. That's better than that garden trailer we stayed in a few weeks back."

Daryl snorted, "Yeah, it was rainin' and there were holes in the roof. 'Course this' better."

She gave him a smile as she placed the bedroll she was carrying on the floor, "Told you."

Daryl rolled his eyes and handed her the other bedroll, "Whatever."

He watch her as she layed her bedroll out and looked up at him, "I'll be right here."

He nodded, taking her in as she leaned over to Lori, gave her her water bottle. Greeted Carl as he sulked in and ignored his mother just as his dad did. Daryl watched Carol's face as she looked between each of the Grimes boys, then at Lori. Carol's face wasn't full of sympathy, not like how everyone else treated Lori. She looked at Lori with understanding.

'_Course she understands,_ Daryl thought grimly. '_Cept Carol's husband's weren't ignoring her._

He moved off to the fireplace. Rick and T-Dog had each dropped an armful of chopped wood onto the ground of the mantle.

"Where'd all this come from," Daryl said, gesturing at the wood.

"Shed out back. Full to the brim with wood already chopped. Saves us the trouble, right?" T-Dog responded with an open smile, straightening his back to standing.

Rick brushed his hands off on his pants as he looked around the room, "We need a few more armfulls. Enough to have a fire goin' hot all night."

Daryl nodded, "Sure thing."

Later there was a fire blazing as the stars beamed down their light through the broken and cracked windows. It was nowhere near warm as that winter draft blew in, but it was better than being outside. Daryl sat near the fire as he shuddered in his ratty poncho. Carol had found it in one of the barns they'd stayed in. Her eyes twinkled as she handed it to him, not willing to take no for an answer.

Most everyone had turned in for the night; he could see the breathing of T-Dog, Lori, Carl as he curled into himself beside her, Carol, Beth, Hershel, Glenn and Maggie wrapped around each other. Rick sat beside the window, his eyes looking back and forth for any threats lurking the in snowy shadows.

Daryl poked at the fire, not wanting to settle to bed yet. His was the last guard duty; a few spare minutes of partial solitude were worth few less of sleep.

Movement in the sleeping mass drew his gaze. He watched as Hershel sat up and looked his way. Daryl looked back to the fire, listening as Hershel made his way over to the fireplace.

"Mind if I join?" Hershel asked.

Daryl shrugged as the old veterinarian sat down across from him. Hershel sent him a half smile and a nod. Daryl returned it.

"It's nice when we're inside," Hershel said as he let his gaze wander over the dancing flames. "It's times like these when I count our blessings."

"Yeah," Daryl scoffed as he glanced to the rotting raptors and vines leaking in through the windows. "It's heaven sent."

"Stocked full of wood? Only two walkers inside and hardly any around outside? I think it is," Hershel sat back against the dresser behind him.

Daryl just looked at him. Faith wasn't something he'd ever had much of. Even before the world went to shit. It had never benefitted him much then or now. But if Hershel wanted to find it in the small things, who was Daryl to tell him otherwise.

Silence passed between them as the fire crackled. Daryl felt slightly tense. He hadn't spoken to this man much. Wasn't sure how to engage in a conversation, or how to just sit quietly in his presence. He just wasn't good with other people in general. But times had changed. He had to change. There was no living space left for a recluse.

It surprised Daryl when Hershel started speaking to him, "When I was young I lived on that farm. It was my home. I grew up with the trees we'd planted."

Daryl looked at Hershel, letting him continue whatever it was he was getting at.

"My father ran those fields back then. He took a lot of pride in what he produced with his own hands. That included me," Hershel stopped, his face set in a frown.

Daryl felt an odd sensation of jealousy tangled up in him. He knew what a father should be; Hershel, Rick, Hershel's _father_. But daddy Dixon was far from those people. Proud wasn't something he'd ever been. Drunk, violent, yeah. Proud? Never. Especially not of his sons. Daryl felt himself scowl.

Hershel looked at him with that same look Carol had given Lori earlier, "You may misunderstand when I say he took pride in me. He did not. What he did take pride in was the work he put forth making those crops and his son what he thought they should be shaped into. For those fields, he used a plow. For me, he used his fists."

A shudder spread through Daryl, up and down his spine and settled ice cold in his stomach. He couldn't help it. Suddenly, those scars all felt as if they were completely visible to everyone. To Hershel. As if they were bleeding through his shirt all over again. He let his eyes fall to the ground.

Hershel continued, "Most of my childhood I believed I deserved what my father gave me. If I was to become a man, that was the price to pay."

He stopped, as if taking in Daryl's tense shoulders and the determined glare he sent to the ground. Daryl didn't need to look up to see if he actually was. He knew. It was as if all eyes were on him, seeing into his soul, his memories, his secret thoughts as a kid that he hadn't even shared with Merle.

"It wasn't until I was older, when I got away from that farm, from him, that I realized how cruel that false rite of passage was. And when I found that out I fell had been my life so I had nothing left. The only thing left for me was alcohol, and I drank it in abundance. Came to my classes hung over on Mondays. It wasn't until someone showed me I was worth something that I believed it. And it took many years for me to live right by her."

Hershel's long pause felt as if he were waiting for a response of some sort. Daryl shifted uncomfortably under the man's gaze. He lifted his eyes to meet Hershel's for a brief second, then looked to the fire again.

"I've told you this because I believe it applies to you."

Daryl fidgeted, scratching his finger against the cement lining the brick of the hearth, "The hell you think somethin' like that?"

"Rick told me about your brother, how he was left in Atlanta. How you were. It isn't hard to see the change."

Daryl didn't respond. He knew the changes he made, but hearing it from one of the group who _wasn't _Carol was unnerving. Warming. He knew in his head that he belonged and was needed, but he was working on feeling it as well.

Hershel stood to leave. Before he did he placed his hand on Daryl's shoulder, oblivious or simply ignoring Daryl's instinctive flinch, "You should get some sleep. We need you well and rested."

Poking at the fire with the wrought iron poker near it, Daryl nodded once. He listened as Hershel stepped lightly over the others to get to his bedroll beside Beth. After all that talking the silence felt thick and kind that could be cut in half with an axe.

"Hershel's right," Rick's voice pierced through it.

Daryl swung his head round to Rick, startled. Of course he knew Rick was there, quietly keeping watch. Of course he'd heard every word that had been said. Again, privacy was nonexistent.

"You should get to bed. I'll have T-Dog wake you when he's done with his shift."

Rick's face was shrouded in shadows, but the softness the new Rick had long since pushed aside was present as he looked at Daryl in the darkness. Rick's pity was disconcerting. It had no place in the world in which they lived. Yet compassion seemed to leak in from the bright edges of the ghoulish world.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders and made his way to his bedroll tucked between Glenn and Carol. He closed his eyes and tried to let his muscles relax. It was hard, as it was every night. But he knew he could do it. He let out a long exhale.

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A/N: Hope you guys liked it and will give me your input of how an encounter like this would go down. Thoughts?


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